


Alliance

by Merit



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix, The Divine Cities Series - Robert Jackson Bennett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: A party was nothing compared to a horde of dead - or so she told herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/gifts).



The town hall was the grandest place in Bain and elaborate lights were strung across the domed ceiling, rich blues and brilliant gold, lending an otherworldly aura to the gathering. The wind was a paltry thing from the Old Kingdom and the lights didn't even flicker. Lirael could only, just, move her golden hand. She had hidden in a corner, Nick was off charming the hosts, his Ancelstierran accent stronger now he was in his homeland. Dozens of people swirled around her, several languages being spoken, silk gowns and military dress uniforms.

The sendings at the Abhorsen's House had packed one of the fanciest surcoats Lirael had ever worn but she felt markedly out of place. Most of the people were wearing Ancelstierran dress. And they all seemed to know what to say, flitting from one person to another, throwing their head back in laughter. It was almost enough for Lirael to wish she had gone along with Ellimere's many, many parties back in Belisaere. Maybe then she would know what to say.

She clutched at her champagne glass, peering through her dark hair, at the crowd around her. She had hidden behind a tall palm, the fronds touching her cheek. An imperious looking woman stared down at her from an old oil painting. Her look reminded Lirael of her Aunt Kibeth.

“Don't mind me,” a woman said, shuffling beside Lirael, peering through the palm's fronds. “Just hiding from my assistant.”

Lirael started, but nodded politely. The woman crouched beside her, a growing smile on her face, as a man in a red uniform looked back and forth, his gaze sliding over Lirael. Perhaps her hiding spot was too good, Lirael thought, if it was attracting other people.

“I like your hand,” the woman said, somewhat abruptly. Lirael started, spinning around, pale champagne whirling in her glass. She clenched her golden hand reflexively at her side. Her fingers moved slow and woodenly and Lirael felt a sharp pang to her heart.

“Thank you,” Lirael murmured, lowering her gaze. The woman had more white in her hair than black and was one of the few women in Ancelstierre that Lirael had seen in uniform. She had many pieces of metal on her chest and she had -

 _Oh_ , Lirael thought, she had a wooden hand. A grand thing of jointed wood and polished bronze. She raised her glass, hair falling in front of her eyes. It was the first time she had seen something like this across the Wall. She leaned forward and then stopped when she noticed the woman's gaze on her. Lirael swallowed quickly, turning away, a bright red blush blooming across her pale cheeks.

“Not as pretty as yours, but it works. I can fire a gun and it makes a decent distraction,” the woman said, shrugging. “As much as one of these can work.” She peered closer at Lirael's hand, her brown eyes narrowing. “That's a very smooth construction,” she said slowly, “I can't see any joints.”

“My nephew made it for me,” Lirael said, tucking her golden hand behind her back nervously.

The woman blinked, before comprehension flickered rapidly over her face.

“I've been rude,” she said, “My name is Turyin Mulaghesh. I'm a former prime minister of Saypur but these days they mostly force me to attend boring parties far away from the action. They're not very good with former prime ministers,” she added, her mouth twisting ruefully.

Lirael nodded slowly, not precisely sure what a former Prime Minister did. Nick had once explained Ancelstierren politics to her but Lirael always got lost when he mentioned the Moot. She only had the faintest idea what a former Prime Minister did – from Nick implied, a lot of gossiping was involved. She suspected from Turyin's demeanor gossiping wasn't her highest priority.

“I'm Lirael, Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” Lirael said, and former Prime Minister Mulaghesh's face didn't change. She already _knew_ who Lirael was.

“In waiting?” Turyin asked and this time she did seem interested, leaning forward. Lirael had found that, generally, that on this side of the Wall most people blanched or looked at her like she was mad if she mentioned what she actually _did_.

“Until the Abhorsen dies,” Lirael said, shifting under the other woman's intense gaze. “There are records of Abhorsens… retiring before then, but not for hundreds of years.”

“Rather serious role?” And there's something uncanny in her eyes.

“Yes,” Lirael said simply. She sipped her champagne carefully, the taste bitter and dry on her tongue. She still wasn't used to these Ancelstierran liquors. Ellimere had warned her about it going to her head and instructed her in the art of nursing a drink.

“I see,” Turyin said, clicking her tongue and looking over the crowd. They seem to have been forgotten. Under the bright lights, medals glimmered, gold necklaces shone. It was a rush of a hundred people, everyone swirling around as if there was a dance. Turyin eyed the crowd critically, squinting, before shrugging. “This is as far north as my handlers will allow me. I've heard great things about the Wall. And very _interesting_ things beyond the Wall.”

“It is difficult to gain access to go beyond the Wall,” Lirael said, feeling very diplomatic. This actually wasn't the first time someone had tried to beg or bribe her to get them a border pass.

“Yes, yes,” Turyin said, waving her hand, “But that makes it more intriguing.” She paused, looking at Lirael. “Do you know much about Saypur?”

“No,” Lirael said. In all her years at the Great Library she had never read of the country. The Old Kingdom was seldom very talkative about what happened across the Wall. It was only since Touchstone became king that diplomatic ties had been tentatively formed with Ancelstierre.

“They said you were fairly isolated,” Turyin said, the phrase sounding rehearsed.

“There were… troubles,” Lirael said, uncertain on how to approach hundreds of years of lawlessness and hordes of Dead. And to a politician!

Turyin snorted harshly, rocking back on her heels. “Oh troubles, I know troubles,” she said, sounding almost flippant about the idea. “After I was made prime minister I thought those troubles would be over. I thought my life would be filled with wrangling with parliament, endless paperwork, but. Troubles have a way of finding you,” she finished, looking Lirael over.

Lirael looked away. Turyin had a gaze like one of the higher up Clayr! She looked back over the woman.

“They do,” she said carefully, crafting the words slowly. Her fingers, her golden fingers, flexed suddenly. Lirael's flesh and bone hand went to it, her sight drifting.

“Ah,” Turyin said, clapping a hand on Lirael's shoulder. “I've upset you,” she clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “You'll excuse the ramblings of an old woman,” she said brusquely. “You get maudlin in your age – if you're one of the lucky few who survived that long.”

Lirael nodded. While she wouldn't consider Touchstone and Sabriel old, yet, they were amongst the oldest at Belisaere. The head of a generation who finally could imagine growing old.

“Yes,” Lirael said, meeting Turyin's eyes. The party dimmed behind her as she stared into Turyin's eyes, a vastness that Lirael had seldom seen after she had crossed the Wall. “I hope to survive that long,” she added, because if faced with an endless sky of stars, Lirael knew she would look up and never be able to look away.

A smile flared across Turyin's face. She took Lirael's golden hand in her own wooden and bronze hand and shook it briskly. And it wasn't like touching a Charter Stone, but something about Turyin's hand made Lirael curious. She frowned and then shut her mouth hastily. It had felt like a dog, the Dog, had pressed her head against Lirael's side. She blinked rapidly, but there was no dog, nothing but Turyin staring steadily back her.

“My nephew, Sameth,” Lirael started, taking a deep breath, “He's quite skilled at making things.” Turyin's hand tightened on hers, a feather light touch this far away from the Wall. “Perhaps he'll be able to make something for you as well.”

“Across the Wall?” Turyin said, a teasing light in her eyes.

Lirael hesitated. “He went to school in Ancelstierre,” she murmured, “I imagine he'll like visiting his old friends sometimes.”

Turyin threw her head back and laughed.

After a pause, Lirael tentatively smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta! <3


End file.
